Letters
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: Nagi is transferred to a new school due to misbehavior (he injured a teacher). There, he meets a new friend/old enemy, and he struggles with a helpless boy and a messed up society in the new school to survive, and finally, to reach the time when he can g
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Omi,  
  
Something happened today. Finally a change from the repetidious life that I lead.   
IT was just before lunch when it happened, and we were let out 30 minutes late. Why, may   
you ask, is Mrs. Tachinoi so late to let us out when she was always punctual before? Well,   
something happened to her. And it was all because of me. Strangely, I don't feel any   
remorse or pity at all for her. After all, who is it that gave us last minute projects   
worth more than half the grade? For my last year in high school, I had wanted a good   
teacher, but as Farfello had often sid, "God never listens to his children."  
  
I swear it was not my fault this time, at least the part that angered me. Mrs.   
Taichinoi began to copy the math of the day on the chalkboard. This had already started to   
irritate me, even though it was only the beginning of the year now. Who, in all the   
teachers in this world, just writes problems on the board without explaining them? These   
problems are all review, so while the other classes are actually learning something new, we   
are stuck here, doing absolutely nothing. I finished all of them first, and raised my hand   
for several answers to get points for the 'Participation' category. She didn't call on me   
until the last problem. The problem was the easiest in the whole bunch, so I was fortunate   
to get it. It was: 5x+5=20. Our conversation went something like this:  
  
"Naoe Nagi. Explain how to do this problem."  
  
I stood up, and said bluntly, "You take the positive 5 and turn it into negative. Subtract it from the 20. The difference you get should be divided by 5x." I sat down. The teacher looked at the problem and clapped her hands together soundly, waking those who had fallen asleep and jolting those who were already awake.  
  
"I'm afraid you're incorrect, Mister Naoe."  
  
The class was silent for once, but I could tell that they didn't believe her. Their  
heads shook vehemently, disbelieving, but there was nothing we could do. SHE was the   
teacher; WE were the students. But if there was one thing we students had in common, it was  
mistrustful-ness of Mrs. Taichinoi  
  
Her math was plain simple, and plain wrong as well. She said that the positive 5   
was added as is to the 20, then divided by 5x. I couldn't control myself at this point. My  
anger exploded along with my pychokinetics. I walked straight up to the desk, and lifted   
it. Several girls in the class screamed, and a few fainted, but at that moment, I just   
didn't care. The teacher cowered in the corner, and the desk landed on top of her. I   
climbed ON TOP of the desk, so great was my anger, and wrote what I had said on the board   
with large letters.  
  
The teacher is in the hospital with several broken ribs, a broken arm, and a   
fractured leg. I don't know the full extent of her injuries, but whatever they are, I hope   
she is suffering for what she's done to us poor students. I have no pity for such as slave   
master.   
  
They called me into the principal's office today. I am to spend the rest of my   
senior year in the St. Joseph Boys' Institute of Obedience. The principal had a wicked   
gleam in his eye when he said this, and I am almost afraid of this school, even before I've   
even seen the school, even set foot on its grounds. This new school seems intimidating   
already, and that isn't a feeling I like. It apprehends me, and makes me jumpy of   
everything. I hope it is better than the Slave Driver, though. I think ANYTHING is better   
than having Mrs. Taichinoi, though.   
  
It's quite late now, almost 12. I will take all my diary books, both filled and   
unwritten in, with me to this already intimidating school. I have no intentions of letting   
Schuldich read this while I'm gone.  
  
Oyasumi, Omi. Have pleasant dreams.  
  
Nagi.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
This was just an idea. It was the idea originally the Rose Argent's fic, in which I  
carelessly forgot the name. One way or the other, this just came to me as a ruse, and if   
Rose Argent is out there, reading this, just want to say thank you, and I changed the anime,  
the names, the name of the school, and the nicknames they're labeled. Flame me if you want.  
I just felt like writing this. I'm not sure, but I think Nagi originally died, but that's  
just hearsay, so nothing more should be made of it. The thing is, when I started to write  
this fic, I was amazed by how horrible it sounded in my rough draft. So I changed a few   
things to make it sound a bit better, and I hope you like it anyways, and that wouldn't   
really matter, since you didn't read the original. I hope to have Ch.1 up soon.  
  
Andrea Weiling, a writer with absolutely no talent. Why am I even writing at all? 


	2. Unconscious Reunion

Ch.1: Unconscious Reunion  
  
Mikhail looked up from his lunch, and turned towards the door. Over the din of the   
cafeteria he watched, and was aware of the gradual fading of murmuring voices that had just   
reigned the building into chaos a few minutes ago. The mahogany door swung open, as it did   
so many times before, this time a little different, admitting a different person, an unknown   
enigma. His eyes flicked over to the first table to the right, and saw the taller, more   
muscular and bulky boys were also looking. There had been talk of a new student coming   
today, so the school was abuzz with talk and gossip. Some claimed he was the strangest   
looking boy in the world; others claimed that he would be one of Them, the top dogs, the   
head of the school, not because of grades, but simply of a reason he could not name. It was  
almost unspeakable to talk about it, but even though no words were said, they all knew,   
everyone did. There was nothing the teachers could do to stop it. The adults had stopped   
trying many years ago.  
  
The boy that entered was unlike anything he had seen. It marred him, scared him,   
this boy was different in a way that he couldn't quite place his finger on. His looks were  
...strange, but not unusual. Long, wispy brown bangs hung down over his head, finally   
ending near the chin. Blue eyes stared out from under the mop of hair, and he could see   
vibrancy in them, with a wolf-like alertness and intelligence. This boy was not a 'boy' in   
mental terms; it was clear that he had been through much, and had gradually built a wall   
around himself, not allowing anyone to ever get close to him. There was also a harsh   
hostile-ness in those cerulean orbs, he decided, a warning to those who tried to provoke   
him. He did not doubt that those who dared to would be punished as severely as they came.   
There was an aura of mystery and stoic-ness about him, and Mikhail immediately picked it up.  
This boy didn't talk much, didn't speak unless asked, and only did the bare minimum unless   
it was beneficial to himself. He didn't care for the world, because the world had never   
cared for him, and this was his way of repaying the world for it's cruel claws of Fate that   
had no doubt closed upon him at a tender age. Mikhail didn't care for this type of person.   
But that wasn't the main point.  
  
This boy had a SOMETHING about him, a something he couldn't quite place, something   
that no one else had. It was just a feeling of apprehensiveness, of wariness. It made him   
think, and he knew it had something to do with the boy's mind. He had something that all   
others didn't, and that both intrigued him and scared him. He did not like mysteries, but   
curiosity always got the better of him, and he was always burned by the fire. It was life,   
and the way of living. He could not change it, for people were born curious, him being a   
person, he was curious about everything as well. But this was something new, and he was   
curious now. His eyes flicked over to where the older boys were sitting, and realized with   
a start that this person was dangerous, even though he seemed quite diminutive and petit,   
but he had potential that he had yet to reach. The older boys didn't notice, though, and he  
sat back down and watched instead. Standing would only catch people's attention, and that   
was exactly the opposite that he wanted to do. Attracting one of Their attentions could   
mean something painful, and that was not something he wanted to endure.  
  
As he watched, They lifted themselves from the table on the far right, their faces   
blank as the whitewashed walls that enclosed them from all sides, as flawless as the wooden   
floor under their feet, and as emotionless as the students watched, with mixed emotions for   
the youngster that walked through those dread doors, without a measure of fear for these   
attackers. They could not help him, it was not the rule, and they would be severely   
punished if they did otherwise. They were helpless against Them, and they were not about to  
rebel. They had done it some years back, and it had ended in disaster. A student had died.  
That was the last straw, and all rebellious meetings, all rebellious actions, all thought of  
rebelling fled from their minds, and the flame that was their sense of strangeness and   
different-ness went out in the whiff of wind that was that battle in the classrooms. The   
mission had failed for the students, but as for Them, they had succeeded. There was no   
doubt on that. Hate still reigned against Them, but there as nothing they could do now,   
nothing they could do ever. They had taken the fight out of them, and they weren't about to  
get it back anytime soon.  
  
Their backs faced their audience as the boy was loosely surrounded. All was quiet,   
all was silent, all was so still that when the leftmost boy drew back his fist and arm   
abruptly, the glass of peace was shattered, and then it seemed as if the world was   
generating around this boy, this new kid that had appeared amongst them with nothing to   
spare, but his life. And even though that was nothing to Them, they wanted it, to govern   
it, and force him into something they wanted. He was merely a prize, a winning to whoever   
managed to get past Them and claim him without a qualm. They had ganged up on him now,   
muddling into a tight circle where all raised their fists to hit the boy-  
  
-and the first boy fell down to the ground. Seconds after, moments after, barely   
any time between the bodies that hit the ground dully, they were laid upon the floor, and   
only one remained. Mikhail stood up, as the head of all the other tables did, a privilege   
given to them courtesy of Them, and they watched, silent and afraid, waiting for the   
champion to finally emerge. The Russian brunette stared at the back that was faced to him,   
and the new boy's eyes as they shifted back and forth, from the fallen boys to the one that   
was standing at him now. The older boy was the leader of Them, as Mikhail saw, the senior   
called Zuranpic, a boy from the depths of Europe, in the Swiss forests, emerging to come   
here to learn Japanese. But he had stayed, for more years than he should have now, cut ties  
with his family to continue his rule here in this secluded school in the middle of the   
suburbs with nothing less than a forest and a lake in its vicinity. He lifted a leg to   
strike the boy down, and the boy caught it with ease, having sensed the move previously.   
With a deft flick of the wrist, the last boy was on the floor, and lay silent.   
  
The cafeteria was silent. Oh, so silent.  
  
He lifted his head, and now they saw him, his eyes glimmering pride and anger,   
sadness and pain, without a jot of joy or triumph, and he seemed taller, more intimidating   
than he had been. He swept the chestnut bangs out of his way for a moment, only to have   
them flop back on his head. He shook them out of his eyes, so everyone could see the ocean   
blue that they held, and the fear that fell upon the audience as they watched, without a   
single word or uttered sound. It was like a grave, a catacomb, where all was silent, and   
the dead lay still. Mikhail could not hear anything, not even his own breathing, he had   
been holding it in for the entire fight.  
  
"The name's Naoe Nagi. Any questions? No? Good."  
  
He lifted his foot, and for a split moment, Mikhail thought he was going to step on   
Zuranpic, but he stepped over the leader of Them, and continued to walk until he was right   
in front of Mikhail, who stared through his light, almost clear blue eyes at him fearlessly.  
Mikhail noted that the students had parted like a reenactment of Moses parting the Red Sea   
as the new boy walked in their midst, and could feel the fear that he would turn and give   
them a blow that hurt by the ones that he passed. Nagi gestured to the chair beside him,   
unoccupied, and asked in a tenor voice, "Is this seat taken?"  
  
The Russian shook his head, and Nagi sat himself down. Out of the corner of his   
eye, Mikhail saw Them slink out of their fallen spots back to their tables, bruised and   
worn, and turned to the new boy. He seriously doubted Nagi was his real name, but he used   
it anyway. "You gave them quite a time, Nagi."  
  
The new boy did not even look up from his food, a plain sandwich he had brought. "I  
was trained well" was all he said, and would say no more. His reply blended in with the   
rest of the hubbub that was talk and gossip, about him, mostly. He paid it no mind, and   
found that if he concentrated on eating and making every bite deliberate, than the sounds   
would fade away as if nothing, as if they had been tuned down a dial. He ate his sandwich,   
as the other boy, whose name he did not know, watched him eat with an air of fascination.   
He wondered what was so fascinating for a moment, pausing in his eating, ignoring the   
frightened and awed glances and looks that people were giving him, and munched away at his   
food. He looked up only when he heard the cafeteria door open again.   
  
The boy that entered this time was already a student, and had been for more years   
than Mikhail had been there. Nagi watched, and felt the air of familiarity hit him, and he   
dismissed it as a simple ruse; why would he be in a place like this? He never disobeyed any  
of the rules, so he couldn't possibly be here. The boy was bedraggled and had to hold onto   
the wall, but he managed to straggle into the lunch line at the side of the cafeteria. But   
before he reached the rail, Nagi watched with suspicion as one of the older boys he had   
fought earlier grabbed the boy's arm and jerks him out of line. After watching a little   
more, he was only able to conclude that this boy did NOT want to be dragged to the table   
where the other boys he had fought were waiting, with smirks on their faces. He turned half  
a centimeter in the nameless boy's direction, just catching his attention, and asked in a   
low voice, "What's happening over there?"  
  
Mikhail straightened and began to speak, his low voice almost un-understandable in   
the din. Obviously this event was nothing out of place of everyday life, because no one was  
paying attention to it. "This school is run by a very different way. The teachers are   
afraid of the students. Literally, the students run the school." Here he stopped, and when  
Nagi's face did not change, he continued. "The people in charge are Them, the boys you   
fought. It proves that you can hold your own. Another thing is, you must have a Claim."   
He gestured to the rest of the table, all boys, sitting and watching the 2 of them talk.   
"They are my Claimed. You must claim by tomorrow at lunch tomorrow or be claimed. I   
suggest you just pick any Unclaimed, just to escape being Claimed yourself. Choose soon, or  
they will choose you."  
  
Nagi's face remained unchanged as he voice remained emotionless. "That was not my   
question. I asked "What's happening over there?". You did not answer my question."  
  
Mikhail could feel the prickling of anger at the back of his neck, and all the boys   
tensed, sensing a fight. Nagi treated it with indifference, and just ignored the even more   
eyes that bore into him. Mikhail shoved away his anger, treating it as a newcomer's ego,   
and answered the question. The Claimed at the table audibly relaxed.   
  
"That boy has been an Unclaimed ever since he came here. The first 2 years he was   
happy, and he fought back, but gradually his victories got less and less, and they won him.   
Now, he's just wreck of what he used to be, and they just use them for their own purposes.   
I don't think I'd like to go into that."  
  
"Why do they have more power?"  
  
"They're older, and their Claimed are always loyal. The Claimed know the   
consequences of insubordination."  
  
Nagi had nothing to say to this. So he got up, and gave Mikhail a meaningful look   
that he didn't quite understand. "Well", he drawled slowly. "I think I might have a look   
at what they're going to do to him. I could learn something from it. But I have one more   
question."   
  
Mikhail nodded his head in accord.   
  
"Do you do the same to your Claimed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good. I would hate you if you did."  
  
Nagi looked at him for another moment, then lifted himself completely from the   
table, and again Moses parted the Red Sea as he approached the table on the far right. The   
talk disappeared immediately, to a relatively low level, and the laughter that came from it   
was high, shrill, nervous. The new boy simply watched them bully the young boy with feigned  
punches and kicks, but when Zuranpic's foot actually came in contact with the younger boy's   
ribs, he stumbled and gave a small yelp of pain. The brunette politely tapped the bully's   
shoulder and asked quite innocently, "What are you doing?"  
  
Zuranpic looked at him, squinting, as if rating him if a scale to trust him with an   
answer or not, then answered, "Beating him up."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He was being disobedient in class." At this, the other boys snickered, and as   
Mikhail watched, he could tell that the new kid didn't believe him. Who would believe a   
bully anyways? But his own anger flared up at Zuranpic's next words.  
  
"Care to join us?" His eyes were sparkling with an almost evil twinkle, but his   
hand was stretched out to the youngster. Nagi, or whatever his name was, looked at the   
taller boy, down at the hand offered to him, then back at the face that peered down at him   
with a smirk tugging at the corners of the bully's lips. After a few moments, Zuranpic was   
down on the floor, twitching madly, then laid still when the younger gave him another kick.   
The other members of Them backed away, then turned tail and fled to their seats at the   
table. Nagi gave Zuranpic another kick to make sure he wasn't feigning unconscious, and   
satisfied that he was well and truly out of it, and turned to the boy lying on the floor,   
shivering madly. Nagi gently reached out a hand to him, but he jerked away from it, afraid   
and timid.  
  
He turned to the audience and said clearly, "This boy is mine now. He is Claimed,   
so if any of you want to try and advance on him, you will have to answer to me." He shook  
his head in the general direction of the boy on the ground and said a little more slowly,   
"Unless you want to end up like him, I advise you not meddle with him or me." Then he   
turned back to the boy and held out a hand again, not smiling, but eyes kind and receiving.  
  
"C'mon. I won't hurt you. Those bullies are gone now. C'mere, I won't bite, you   
know."  
  
The sandy-haired boy opened his eyes, so blue and endless that Nagi lost himself in   
them. Then they shut, and the frail frame convulsed more wildly than ever. Nagi went on   
forward and picked the boy up, shivering in the warmth, and back to the table, repeating the  
parting act for the third time. Mikhail pulled up an extra chair, and watched as the   
brunette gratefully set the close-to-unconscious boy in it. He nodded his thanks to   
Mikhail, and took out his water bottle. He wiped the top, and opened the top. "Here", he   
gently pressed it against the boy's parched lips. "Drink this."  
  
The boy whimpered, but did as he was told, until he had drunk his fill, which was   
more than half the bottle. Nagi put the bottle away, and smoothed the boy's hair,   
whispering, "Get some rest, you. I'll get you to your room later." After he ate the last   
few bites of his sandwich, he stood up, and Mikhail did as well. All of the other boys at   
the table did as well, and he quickly motioned them down. A few hurried words told them to   
stay put and not to go to anywhere save the bathroom. Then Mikhail gestured for the new boy  
to follow him, an unspoken command. The new boy was quiet through the entire trip to the   
sleeping boy's room, and their conversation consisted of only 2 lines.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Mikhail."  
  
There was no more said, for they had arrived at a room. Nagi took note of the   
corridors he passed, and the room number that hung on the door. Mikhail stepped in, and   
turned on the light. If words could even begin to describe Nagi's face, they would have   
included several cuss words. Nagi took a step in the threshold to the room and looked   
around, his face contorted into fury.  
  
The wooden vinyl floor was spotted with flecks of dark red, a reminder to previous   
times in this room. A single light, the light that Mikhail had turned on consisted of one   
single light bulb hanging dejectedly from the ceiling. His gaze swept over the bed, and his  
voice uttered a single growl as he saw the 4 bedposts, surrounding a dented in bed, held   
handcuffs on each one. The shelves on the side held nothing short of torture equipment; the  
top shelf consisted of coils of whips. The second held the same, but the whips had razors   
on them. The bottom one held a set of darts and a set of knives, every shape and size,   
every length and width. Nagi would kill if they had actually been used before, but he   
figured that if they had been used before, they wouldn't have been clean. They were   
probably just there for decoration, and to remind the poor boy of what might happen if he   
disobeyed, if he tried to fight back.  
  
He turned and swept out of the room, Mikhail close behind. He had not wanted to see  
the terrible look on his face. He watched, as he usually did, as the new boy took a slip of  
paper from his pocket and handed it to him. "Where's this room?"  
  
Mikhail led him wordlessly to the room. It was white, clean, neat, and had 2 beds.   
Mikhail threw back the covers as he watched the new kid put the sleeping boy down on the   
bed. He rolled the covers back over him as he got a damp towel. Nagi wiped the cloth over   
his head, then as the sleeping boy frowned and muttered in his sleep, he hushed him, saying,  
"Go to sleep. You're safe" in the sleeping boy's ear. Mikhail watched all of this. When   
Nagi was finally done, he noticed Mikhail was still there, and asked, "Yes?"  
  
"What's you're name?"  
  
"Nagi."  
  
Mikhail figured it would be wise not to ask any more on the subject.  
  
"I'll come up here to get you for supper. You don't have class today. They start   
tomorrow. If I don't come, you know where to go, and it's at six thirty to eight. Long   
time to eat dinner, but we get to loiter."  
  
Nagi looked once again at the finally peacefully sleeping boy on the bed and asked   
quietly, as if he didn't want Mikhail to hear him. The Russian could sense some fear in the  
voice, but now was not the time to ask. "What's his name?'  
  
Mikhail began to walk out of the room, leaving Nagi staring after him. But just   
before he reached the door, he said, "Omi. Omi Tsukiyono is his name."   
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
This is starting to become a sort of after-series of WeiB Kruez. This is hooked   
with the other series I wrote, called "Let's Call It A Day". That one was a prologue to the  
whole thing. I have the whole thing in my head, and it just takes such a long time to put   
it on paper! But I want to finish it, and since summer is coming up soon, I hope I will get  
a bit more done in a little less time. Homework is loading me down right now. I still   
have a history project to do. But that's not the point, is it? The character 'Mikhail' is   
a very close friend of mine. He is Russian, with brown hair and these blue eyes that just   
seem to x-ray you. He's a very talkative person to those who actually take the time to get   
to know him, but to all others, he's just silent and emotionless. Aya/Ran-like, but has a   
soft side for friends.  
  
Andrea Weiling  
  
  



	3. Past, Revisited

Ch.2: Past, Revisited  
  
Sweet, sweet silence met his ears as he awakened, slowly, ever so slowly. For a   
moment, he thought he could hear birds singing and smell the fragrance of flowers outside,   
and he didn't want to move, almost wishing that it had been real. He inhaled softly, and   
the clear air was riddled with smells so strange to his nose now, the smell of clean sheets,  
unused, a touch dusty, the smell of ancient books that he could just picture in his mind,   
sitting on a forgotten shelf as his hand reached up to grab one by the spine and pull it   
down, flipping it open, endorsing himself in the strange world of fantasy, of fiction, of   
life itself. Everything could be accessed by books, the writings of old, the history, the   
terror, the joy and happiness, it could all be in just one little flop-backed book, yellow   
and beyond reading. His mind slowly drifted towards sleep again, and for once he didn't   
struggle, just accepted it, and slowly it claimed him, sucking him into oblivion, and he   
knew no more.  
  
He awakened again to the afternoon, his eyes opened at the first touches of   
consciousness. His mind began to click the gears inside, and his mind began to work more   
smoothly than it had been in the past year. His head, for once, was clear as it had been   
when he was still working in the Wei?,?as the computer technician of the group/family they   
were. Wei? had been his family, and he accepted it, having no family himself that he could   
go to...at least, no honest family. He didn't consider the Takatoris to be his family, and   
he never would again. They had abandoned him, and that was what their fault was. They   
died. He lived. That was the end of that. But now, his mind turned to alert him of the   
fresh, crisp surroundings that he had muddled in earlier. This certainly wasn't his room;   
his room smelled like the dried blood that crusted the floor, tainted the walls, smeared   
everywhere and over everything. He shivered at the thought, but he realized that however   
outwardly clean it might look, he was never going into that room again. Only if he had to.   
Only if it was a life or death decision, nothing else. But this room was clean, unstained   
by what had happened in HIS room, and he liked it. Turning his head rather painfully to the  
side, he spotted the other bed, unoccupied and still kept neatly, and the nightstand that   
stood between the two. There was a book on it. Curiosity got the better of him, and he   
reached out to slide it off the table-  
  
-and immediately uttered a sharp yelp of pain as it pierced into his arm, his left   
one. He let it drop down to the soft bed, and reached his right arm over it. He leaned   
slightly over it, wincing, but he grasped the spine of the book and dragged it off the edge   
of the table. Whoever had brought him here, dressed him gently, and put him to bed had   
obviously left this here to his benefit, for there was a note attached to the top, a bright   
pink sticky note that blazed back at him like some star. He blinked for a moment and stared  
at it, then saw the addressee, his name. He took the note off of the black bound book and   
brought it closer down to his eyes so he could read it in the fading light of the afternoon.  
It said:  
  
Omi,  
Sorry I left before you woke up. I couldn't sneak anything out of the cafeteria   
during breakfast, so on the other table on the other side of the bed, there's a large cup of  
water with another pitcher full (don't pour it unless you know you won't drop it) and some   
biscuits I brought from home. Sorry, that's all I had. The only other edibles I brought   
were candy, and I didn't quite think that'd settle well on an empty stomach. The book is to  
relieve boredom. If you finish this one, there's a stack in the drawer to continue reading  
with. See you at the end of class, or as soon as I can return.  
  
Your roommate  
  
There was nothing else penned, so Omi did as he was told, and drank half the cup of water.   
He propped himself up comfortably between 2 pillows, and finally was able to look at the   
cover of the book. It was plain black leather, with 5 gold letters printed at the top, in   
English. But Omi didn't have to know English to know what it meant; it was on another dozen  
books he had seen in bookstores before. It read "Diary". The blonde picked up a biscuit,   
and snuggled in the blankets before turning the first page to begin. It was worn, and there  
was a dedication on the first page:  
  
[Maybe you won't be so annoyed at me. Keep this so I can read it later. GS.]  
  
He frowned a little at the dedication, because the initials seemed familiar, but he shrugged  
it off and turned the page. It was filled with scripty, flowery kanji that was at least   
legible, unlike some of the writing he had encountered before. Like Youji's, he thought   
with a smile. His writing was the worst. He looked on, and realized with a puzzled start  
that all the entries were addressed to him. It started off with a date, and he realized   
that this was some time ago, when he hadn't joined Wei? yet, still in grade school.  
  
[Omi,  
  
I can't believe it! My teacher is so stupid, so incredibly dumb that words cannot   
even begin to explain how idiotic she is! She purposefully tricked all of us, us poor   
innocent students who have followed every rule and every project that she's had the gall to   
dole out! At least, the main body of us. There are slackers in every class, including   
ours, and we don't like the slackers anyways. A few weeks ago, all of us were puzzled in   
the reason behind Mrs. Nagisa's abrupt stop in practically all the homework in the   
classroom, encouraging us to sleep better, while all this time, she was planning something!   
Well, perhaps it wasn't her who planned it in the first place, but she could have at least  
warned us ahead of time!  
  
It came as just a *little* surprise when we heard the intercom click on and the   
principal's voice say, "I hope all classes are studying for your individual finals that are   
due tomorrow." Needless to say, the homeroom class of 2-A was in an uproar. I was so   
furious that I only vaguely realized that all the nearby tables had floating pencil boxes   
and paper.  
  
I hate her! With every fiber of my being, I HATE HER!  
  
Finals? At the final few precious school days that we actually should be   
celebrating our entering junior high? Never. I'm not studying for ANYTHING, and I mean I   
don't CARE ANYMORE. I AM NOT STUDYING WHEN IT IS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR.]  
  
"So, you've found my note and diary, hmm?" Omi looked up at the speaker, his senses  
marred and starting to blur as his face turned as white as the sheets. Both of them just   
stared at each other for a moment, blue meeting blue, and wariness flashed behind their   
eyes. The blonde gripped the sheets and the book tightly, and his eyes broke the gaze for a  
moment to glance back down at the end of the page, which had just a few squiggles of kanji   
left.  
  
[THE UNSTUDYING NAGI NAOE]  
  
His eyes flashed back up, and he faced defiance with anger and equal defiance. The emotion   
swirled around them, the air singing with the tension that clinched between then, sharp and   
grating as they just stared. Then, slowly, Omi's hand strayed to the pocket where his last,  
smallest set of darts were hidden, but his hand only grasped air. There were no pouch of   
them, and panic began to rise in him, suffocating his senses.   
  
Nagi saw the hand that groped for the pouch of darts that he had seen so many times,  
always out to kill him. Never before, though, did time stand so still, and he didn't break  
eye contact with him when he reached down, lifted one edge of the comforter, and drew out   
the pouch of darts. He watched as Omi's eyes grew wide in horror, thinking of an attack,   
but then startle-ment when he held it out towards him. The older's face went livid with   
unspoken surprise, and both of them thought of the compromise, the spoken agreement between   
the 2 companies of assassins. Memories began to squeeze past the crowded mind that Nagi had  
at that moment, and Schwartz and Wei? had come to terms with the agreement, and the   
unsteady compromise that all of them tried hard to contribute to and make happen.   
Schuldich had taken over the Koneko No Sume Ie, and everyone had pitched in with new   
suggestions, improvements, and just generally helping out with manual labor when they had   
the chance or free time to visit. A steady conversation was always kep going, never on   
slight topics such as their pasts and fighting, but instead on what they knew on flowers.   
Debates ensued before, as he remembered, more funny than serious, and the hostility in his   
eyes faded as he thought of the irony of the 2 teams, now working to support each other.   
  
Omi thought of something in Ken's last letter to him. He remembered that he had   
said something about a funny comedy debate between Crawford and Youji, staged about   
something about the cattaleya, a flower in which was Youji's image flower, if he remembered   
correctly. The soccer player had copied it all down as they said it, and it was surprising   
how rationally funny the leader of Schwartz could get in a desperate argument. Ken even   
went further and said that Aya was actually chuckling, finally some new improvement on   
getting their stoic leader out of his closed up, bottle-tight shell. Ken had also said that  
in the very end, when Youji won, he had seen Crawford smile. Not a sadistic smirk, but an   
actual, genuine smile. That, in itself, was a gift. At least things were well back home.  
  
Gradually the hostility faded, and Omi's eyes welled up in relief that Nagi wasn't   
going to hurt him. His fingers shook as he received the leather pouch full of darts, and   
took them in 2 hands, shaking. His fingers lightly brushed against Nagi's, and it occurred  
to him that this boy, this teenager with brown bangs and blue eyes, was real. It wasn't an  
illusion, not a dream, not some hallucination, but an actual person standing in front of   
him. He was solid, not a ghost, not a figment of imagination, not just a wraith but an   
actual REAL PERSON, a person familiar, a person he could run to for help, which he so   
desperately needed...Uncharted, he threw himself into the younger boy's arms, feeling the   
arms that supported him tense up, then relax as he realized it was just a hug. He felt the   
walls inside him crack and splinter, the barriers split wide open, and the tears gushed   
forth in a wave of pain, finally released. The book fell from Omi's hands, as well as the   
pouch of darts onto his lap as he murmured his name, over and over until he was drunk with   
it. "Nagi...Nagi...Nagi..."  
  
Nagi didn't know what to expect when Omi threw himself at him, an attach, what...?   
But the bag of darts was on top of the book, the book on his lap, which he wouldn't be able  
to reach in time even if he did let go. Nagi would've gotten there first, and lifted the   
pouch up high where he couldn't reach it. But the elder didn't make any move to retrieve   
it, so he just let it be. He tensed up when he slammed into him, knocking him back several   
steps, but then the tears came, and he turned sympathetic eyes towards the mop of blonde   
hair fondly, and reached out and stroked the soft top, feeling it run through his fingers.   
Tears of pain, sadness, bitterness, all of the school he had been in for the past year came   
pouring out, and he just sobbed brokenly in Nagi's arms. Nagi didn't hear the knock on the   
door until it opened, then he chanced a look back, and saw it was Mikhail. The Russian   
mouthed to him silently that dinner was to be served soon. Nagi looked down at the crying   
boy in his arms and winced a little. He mouthed back "Just a few minutes, go without me".   
Mikhail shrugged, and backed out warily. Nagi obviously still intimidated everyone. After   
a little while, Omi quieted, and finally lifted himself out of Nagi's arms, tired and   
exhausted. He reached up a hand, and faltered as it almost touched Nagi's cheek, but   
settled for the shoulder. Both just stared at each other.  
  
Then came a strange question.  
  
"Nagi, are you real?"  
  
"Hai. Why?"  
  
Omi shook his head back and forth vehemently. "Listen, Nagi."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
Omi raised his head, blue eyes wide with unspoken fear for him, concerned and   
anxious. "Nagi, you've got to get out of here! It's a prison!"  
  
"Why should I do that? I can't leave you, now that I've claimed you."  
  
Omi took the piece of information as nothing. "They do stuff here! The teachers   
are too afraid to tell the police, so it goes unnoticed!" Then, on a much softer, something  
akin to a hurt tone, Nagi heard Omi whisper, "Do you know what they did to me?"  
  
Nagi tread with caution with his words. He could feel something wrong; the air was   
singing with apprehension again, and he didn't like it. Slowly, letting the words roll off   
his tongue languidly, he asked back, "What did they do to you, Omi?"  
  
Omi's eyes came up, filled with sadness and something like acceptance. There were   
no tears as he said the next words, and Nagi wondered where that kind of courage came from.   
Those words made Nagi want to shake his head in denial, saying there was no such thing, but  
that would be lying if he said so.  
  
"They took away my virginity, Nagi. They raped me."  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Aren't I mean? I mean, what person in the right mind would do such a thing to poor   
Omi? I'm such a murderer...This chapter was done rather quickly, so please excuse all the   
times I didn't describe, blah blah blah. I hope Siva_chan has posted her new fanfic,   
because I want to read it...  
  
I already have the rest of my stories all planned out, some are new, some have good   
describing, some don't, it depends on the story. They will all go with this storyline, one   
way or the other, but I won't put them up until I'm finished here. I seem to have something  
for 3 chapter stories, and that's probably what this one's gonna end up being: a 3 chapter  
story just like "Let's Call It A Day".   
  
Andrea Weiling  
  



	4. 3 Days of Heaven

Ch. 3: 3 days of heaven  
  
Omi,  
  
Is it just me, or are you happier these past few days? Today, you insisted you   
wanted to go to class, and I let you go. But just as a precaution, I asked Mikhail to keep   
an eye out for you, whatever classes he has with you or the classes his Claimed has with   
you. It is early into class this morning, and as I write this, the class is quiet, only the  
sounds of pen and pencil scratching is heard. Even the teacher is silent as we copy down   
the notes. But I will take some time to write a bit. I know you will be reading this soon,   
since you have done nothing but read in these past few days, bedridden. You have asked me   
for all the volumes, and all of them, all 12 of them, are piled by your desk. I almost   
laughed out loud when you offered to type them up for me. No, Omi, that will not be   
necessary. I don't need my diary entries typed. Somehow, I feel that makes them   
unauthentic, because anyone could write that. But in my own handwriting, I feel that it is   
more right, more...true to be me.   
  
It has been 3 days since I came here, claimed you, and you moved in with me in my   
assigned bedroom. I don't think the teachers needed any more persuading than I gave them to  
let you have the other bed in the classroom. The thing is, the teachers are so scared of   
me already because I beat Them up. I guess the others are afraid of something in the past,   
something to do with Them. But whatever it is, I don't think it is worse than having to be   
an assassin and kill other people. Nothing is worse than that, in my opinion. How did I   
ever come to be in Schwartz, anyways? I certainly didn't deserve such a fate.  
  
But to describe these past few days' routine, it is easy. I wake up earlier than   
you, make sure that you're still sleeping, and go to the cafeteria. I am always one of the   
first ones there, so I get first pick. The shrively-old looking lunch lady has now learned   
better than to say 'no' to giving me an extra portion of breakfast. I brought one up for   
you every morning, because by then everyone was awake, and in the halls and shouting. That   
meant you were awake as well. I know that assassins are paid to be light sleepers. As I   
watched you in the morning, your eyes would always light up in that same fashion, that   
brightness that just warmed my heart. But unlike the times before, you didn't talk as much.  
Your eyes held this...wariness and vagueness that it didn't have before. Those eyes could  
freeze me, and I couldn't help but do what you wanted, no matter what the situation. I   
found myself smiling sometimes when I saw you munch away at your food, and always was   
mesmerized when the sun shooting its rays through your hair, making it seem more brilliant   
than it already was...  
  
Wait. Was I actually romantic there?  
  
That's not the worse, though. The worst is when I change your bandages. I can't   
help my quivering hands or the fact that my blood rises to my (yes, I know) unnaturally pale  
cheeks (not as pale as Aya/Ran's). It's so uncanny, as my hands shake, and I have to hide   
my burning face from you by looking down. No, I can't resist. Last morning, when you   
gently touched my shoulder and asked me what was wrong, I could only look down and mutter,   
"Nothing." Secretly, I hoped that you thought it was just a mannerism for me, and thought   
that I usually didn't bandage up other people. I knew that probably, if this had been the   
past, you would have smiled and chatted as the other people of Wei? changed your bandages,   
but now you just sit on the edge of the bed, solemn and unspeaking and unsmiling, and I   
can't help but worry about this state of emotional health. What is this feeling, this   
feeling that makes me flush and stutter at your single-most touch, and fall hopelessly...  
wait, did I just write "fall"?  
  
Oh, Omi. You and that angelic self that you are. Have I fallen in love with you?  
  
It must be a new entry for the Guiness Book of Records: a stoic, cold-hearted young   
man falling for a now-equally silent teenager who used to talk and smile? It's impossible,   
but somehow that has become the gist of this story, the story of my life. But if I had to   
describe these past few days, I would have described in just 6 words: 3 days of heaven on   
Earth.   
  
As he closed the leather-bound book, he heard something shuffling behind him.   
Instincts kicked in, and he turned his head back a little to see the boy behind him   
organizing the papers on his desk. Nothing special, until he kept on watching and the boy   
lifted his head to look at him. In an instant, Nagi knew that something was going to   
happen, if not had happened already. It was the look that told him that something was   
wrong, that he was going to experience something he didn't quite want to experience. The   
look, even though it had come from one of Their Claimed, it showed a warning of upcoming   
danger. That was bad. The gaze broke, and the boy looked down at his papers. In an   
instant, making sure that he saw, the boy behind him purposefully tipped a slip of paper   
over the edge of his desk to land near his foot. He glanced a bit suspiciously back at the   
boy, who did not reply nor turn his head up to meet his eyes. He reached down and picked up  
the note. The message was simple.  
  
Do not expect to see your Claim by the end of class, Nagi.  
  
Fear gripped him, but as he looked back again, the whining bell rang, signaling the end of   
class. For a moment he just sat there, deliberating what to do, when he thought he might be  
able to pick up something from the messenger. The boy was just picking up his backpack,   
but as Nagi peered into his face, he realized that the abashed face above him was saying   
something: "I'm sorry". The boy then shuffled to the door in a curious, humbling way, not   
looking back to see if he had caught the message. At the door, the large bulky for of the   
leader of Them blocked the doorway, and the older boy grappled the boy's thin shoulders   
roughly. Nagi watched in sick disgust as the boy was forced to sit down in the closest   
chair, while the member of Them leaned down and whispered something in his ear in a caring   
way. The boy shuddered. Slowly the boy registered the question, and nodded. The older boy  
smiled wanly, and locked eyes with Nagi for a moment before he prodded the Claim out of   
class and He walk out the door. Nagi stared in rapid fascination for a moment, then reality  
and realization struck him at the same time, and he dashed out the door.  
  
As he skidded down the hall, weaving a mind-boggling path through students and   
teachers and books and paper-filled bags, his thoughts whirled close the edge of panic. A   
scream that echoed through the hall, demanding many of the student's attentions. But it was  
not swayed, and for a moment Nagi wanted to scream at them "What's wrong! Aren't you   
concerned?" But the didn't do anything, just went about their business. It was like it was   
everyday occurrence, and for a moment, Nagi realized that it just might be a regular   
occurrence, So many question, starting with "What if...?" ranted through his head, carving   
a path of confusion, making his thoughts jumble up. In an attempt to clear out his mind, a   
voice spoke into his mind, telling him what to do. If I get there before class is out, I   
might be able to save Omi from whatever they have in store for them. At this thought, his   
feet moved a little quicker, but it seemed that the students were blocking him, barring him   
from entrance. In a frustrated attempt to clear the lot of them, he raised the air currents  
to sweep them off his feet. Soon the hallway was crowded with floating students, lifted   
kicking and screaming in the air. Nagi lifted them up to a good height to where he could   
walk under them, and scampered under them in a frenzied rush. He hooked his hand around   
the corner of the next turn in the hallway, and opened the door to Omi's homeroom at the   
same time.  
  
The scene made him freeze momentarily.  
  
Omi was held, crushed, against the wall's far corner, away from the door as bodies   
were pushed against him to make sure he didn't struggle. For once in a long time, he was   
struggling, even though he knew it was futile. Nagi's anger burned stronger than ever as he  
heard the strangled voice cry out his name in between syllables of 'help'. He was   
obviously half-conscious at this time, but Nagi felt a pang of guilt for not coming sooner.   
As he looked around, he realized that Omi had obviously done his own share of damage   
beforehand already. Several classmates were struggling against the darts that pinned them   
in place, with no avail. The brunette knew those would hold, and the only way to get them   
out was to ask Omi or to rip your clothes. Still other classmates were lying comatose on   
the floor, in the clear area that had been once occupied by the teacher's desk. The burdens  
ome desk had been shoved to one side, and pinned to the wall was Mikhail, tawny brown hair   
hiding his eyes, blue eyes fixed on moving the desk from shoving him against the wall any   
longer. A small stream of blood trickled from his upper lip, and he sported several bruises  
in random places, already starting to turn black. Another scream sliced the air, cutting   
through sound, and turning his attention to the corner once again. Nagi almost screamed   
himself as Zuranpic latched his fingers on the waistband of Omi's pants and began to tug   
them down-  
  
-and the last straw broke in Nagi's memory, the last barriet that held back his   
powers was broken. Raw energy, the energy he had been storing for so long finally burst out  
of him, uncontrolled except for his hands that gripped the wind tightly in both hands from   
the open window, making it bend to his will of power. It twisted and turned, trying to   
escape, but Nagi held fast, and soon made it do what he wanted it to do. It lifted desks   
off of shivering, shaking students that had been hiding under the desks, and sent pencils   
sharpening towards Them. As his eyes saw a sheen of red, the older boys just barely ducked   
out the way of a barrage of randomly flying objects. As They scattered, he threw another   
barrage at them, this time pinning most to the walls with scissors, jauntily thrown pencils   
and books that dented the walls, and desks that crashed into the whitewashed walls and made   
permanent cracks as they jutted right through the walls and hung many feet above the ground.  
They just stood, shakily, their legs against the wall and their hands pressed against the   
cold floor, so icy.  
  
Cold, and hard. Just like his resolve.   
  
He lifted his hand, just as a soft, timid one touched his arm. He turned his eyes   
to look at the person, his demeanor still like an animal, uncontrollable and unpredictable.   
But the eyes he met froze him, large and blue, and slowly something went between their   
eyes, an unspoken message. Nagi lowered his hand, and the color came back to his cheeks,   
and his eyes went back to their normal blank façade. Omi sighed relief, but when met with   
Nagi's questioning eyes, all he said was, "I don't want another death on my hands."   
  
"Are you hurt?", Nagi threw the boys haphazardly out of the door and looked at Omi.   
The older shook his head and pointed the poor Russian pinned to the wall. "Mikhail first,   
Momma Nagi." When Nagi mentally began to protest, Omi just smiled at the look of mock-tense  
in his eyes and stood back. The teacher was taken from her sanctuary (screaming her lungs   
off) and flung out the door. The desk itself moved itself 2 feet away. Omi and Nagi both   
caught the oldest boy as he fell, and laid him on the desk. Mikhail sat himself up and   
looked purposefully at Nagi, thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke.  
  
"Knew you were different when I first saw you."  
  
"Damn right I ain't."  
  
Nagi looked intently at Mikhail for a moment after saying his part, then all 3 burst  
out in chuckles. They hobbled their way to the nurse's office, pushed several already   
injured boys (courtesy of Nagi) out of their way, and settled on the cots. Even against   
Omi's protests, he got a cot, and Nagi left them to their own premises, and hoped that   
nothing would happen like this again. He had been out of control for that few seconds that   
They were attacked, and he didn't want to lose that sanity just yet. As Omi said, he didn't  
want another death on his hands.  
  
* * *  
  
No one saw the small shuffling figure as he exited the classroom, holding a thick   
leather-bound book in his hand. Gold letters flashed in the sun, and the number 13 was   
imprinted on the spine. As he rounded the corner, he clutched the book to his chest to   
prevent it from getting damaged on the floor. A large, chubby hand reached out and grabbed   
his shoulder. Immediately panic seized him, but then saw a large face swimming above him,   
and relaxed about 3 hairs. The boy was shoved against the wall, and held at swordpoint (not  
literally!) and questioned.  
  
"Did you get it?"  
  
The boy hesitantly held out the book. The hand holding him snatched it, and the boy  
did the best to slink away. But before he did, a hand grabbed the back of his collar, and   
he was pulled back. Hot, smelly breath was pounded at his face, and his stomach revolted   
with nausea. He dared not move a muscle as the smirking face bore down on him. "Good job",  
it said, and he turned his face away as Zuranpic gently ran his hands up his thin thighs.   
Then he was gone, and knocked to the ground. He watched the bulky figure leave him in the   
dust, and cursed himself for shuffling the note.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
Finally, another chapter done. I was going to make this chapter longer, but I guess  
not. I put the rest in the next chapter. Enjoy, minna. Now, I have to study for my   
Chinese finals, so please be patient. I am sorry this chapter is so long, but dwell on this  
one, because I won't be writing for a little while.   
  
Andrea Weiling 


	5. 3 Days of Hell

Ch.5: 3 Days of Hell  
  
Omi,  
  
I haven't been able to find my diary for 3 days now, but I guess there isn't much I   
can say. When you read this, I don't think you need any reminding what happened these past   
3 days. It was the complete opposite of the first 3 days. It has been at least 2 weeks   
since I came here, but so much has happened. The word spread, even to Them (still now, I   
loathe to capitalize their names), but they didn't do anything about it. We are holding   
rebellion meetings. This school is not run right. Not that it can't be unique or already   
isn't, but the thing is, it is wrong. Plain wrong. There is a rule that states quite   
clearly that a Claimer cannot make out with a Claimed during class, whether or not it is his  
Claim or not, but that is never the case. When that same situation happens, the class   
turns to wreak havoc instead of study. The only thing a teacher can do is hide under the   
desk. But I hate the teachers too. They will have to change the grading system, or else   
parents will complain. At least, the parents that actually have children here and are   
gullible enough to send them here. We and our followers have been attacked at every period,  
and some just plain stay in their dorm rooms and wait till class is in session, and hold   
walkie-talkies that we demanded from the teachers. When a casualty is sprouting in a   
classroom, they rush to help, leaving an able amount behind to take care of any others. The  
infirmary is always full, but I am proud to say that there are more of Their Claimed than   
us.   
  
I will transfer the contents of this paper to this diary later. It is silent in the  
room, except for the occasional page turning by you as you read my past diaries, and the   
frantic scribbling of my pen. Well, and maybe one last noise: the ticking of the alarm   
clock. Nothing else though. The lamp shines a pool of light, spilling gold over you. The   
halo around your head makes you look so calm, and for once a peace settles inside of me.   
Your face is solemn, but your eyes show an eagerness, a hunger for more knowledge, perhaps   
about me and my life. As you turn the page, a smile uplifts the corners of your mouth, and   
I am left with a fast-beating heart and breathless. No, I am in love, no question about it,  
I tell myself. I am so in love that I can barely hide it. As much as it seems impossible,  
but I've fallen in love with you, Omi. Inevitably fallen in love. You'll be reading this   
soon, but I won't stop you. I'll be far away by then, somewhere you can't follow me, and   
you won't be able to throttle me to death with your darts, your crossbow, your longbow, or   
your smile.  
  
But for the last 3 days they have staged attack after attack. Contrary to that   
morning diary entry that seems so far away, it has been anything but chaos. The boys   
rounded up on you for another attack, making you cry out for help. One of Mikhail's Claims,  
from the infirmary, hobbled up to my door and gasped out the news, and it was only then   
that I came running to save you. IT is so strange now. I can say that word without   
flinching. Claimed, I mean.  
  
I will let you go free into the world, Omi. Free from constraint, free from this   
damn school, free from me. But not until I get you out of here. Never until I get you out   
of this hellhole and back into the ranks of the Wei?. You will be safe and sheltered there,  
I am sure of it.   
  
There comes a knock on the door. After a few seconds, it opens. You do not look up  
from your reading, ut your eyes have ceased their roaming on the white page. You are   
listening. As I write this I greet the intruder. 'Hello, Mikhail", I say in English. You   
look up, and your face is relaxed. I don't know what he wants, but his face is blank, not   
tense or relaxed like yours, but apprehension clouds his features. It is a chilling look in  
his eyes, those electrifyingly light blue eyes. Something is coming, and it is closer   
still, strangely thrilling and exciting, with a tinge of dread. Scary, now I am talking   
like this. But that feeling is there, in the air, suffocating, and suffocating all of us.   
You. Me. All of us, us rebels against the government, they have been brewing for a stand   
now. And it has come. The suffocating air, suffocating you, is all I can think of. I hope   
it will not kill you.  
  
Omi, I think I'm afraid.  
  
Nagi Naoe  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Well, I guess I lied. I just typed this up quicklike, because I already had it   
written, just on paper. Didn't take as long as I expected, so I'll just let you have it.   
NOW I will study for the finals. Or not. You chose, but sorry this chapter is so short.   
That's it.   
  
Andrea Weiling 


	6. Found Out

Ch.6: Found Out  
  
He stood up, and softly his partner, with a mop of blonde hair standing out haloed   
in the dim lamplight, stood also. They followed the brown-haired Russian out of the door,   
and they were ready, ready for all that might lie ahead, all that might have shown in the   
Russian's face. It was a pensive, loud silence, if there was anything like that possible.   
It made the blonde want to jump up and shout his head off, just to break this silence in   
between them. As he watched the now-taller brunette make his way behind the Russian, he   
could see the grimace increase as the halls echoed with sound. The halls were empty, except  
for their footsteps; everyone was afraid, after seeing the carnage and damage he had caused  
when someone thwarted his Claimer, Nagi Naoe. NOTHING could stand in his way now.   
Anything and everything that he wanted could be his, but the blonde knew that that wouldn't   
happen. Nagi simply wasn't such a person. He never took without permission, except for   
lives on missions, but that was all the past, and the past was no more. On a second   
thought, he wondered how Nagi would have grown so tall in the first place. The last time he  
had seen him, he had been at least a centimeter shorter, so why was he so tall now? He had  
already found that he wouldn't grow any taller, and had resigned himself to his short fate.  
  
No matter, he told himself as he laid his head gently on his taller shoulder, for   
comfort. He felt Nagi's head turn, the bangs brushing the top of his own head, but then the  
shoulders relaxed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, there had been no words passed   
between them, but he could tell that Nagi appreciated it. The shouting grew louder as they   
walked towards a room, a white one just like all others, and with a flitting glance at the 2  
of them, the blonde lifted his head, and Nagi nodded at the Russian. The door opened, and   
it felt like a beacon of light had been opened into the night. But this beacon, this shiny   
light, it was cold and uninviting. The blonde, Nagi, and the Russian did not like it.   
Nevertheless, they stepped into the threshold and over it. Nagi walked in front of them and  
stared at the sight.  
  
The trophy room was usually empty, but this time it seemed it was a exception.   
People had crowded in, jam-packed, and the low murmur of voices at Their words were heard.   
They stood on an erected teacher's desk in the middle of the room, which was still quite   
spacious. The school had hoped it had been awarded some sort of award, and there were, but   
there were only a few lonely gold plaques on the wall, dust clinging to them, and on the   
cabinets there were several trophies, but other than that, there were only the desk, Them,   
and the spectators. Nagi had to admit that They had chosen a good place to pick a fight   
this time. It was a ways from the dorm where the teachers and boys slept at night, and I   
was built on the first foundation, so the walls were stronger. Mentally, Nagi told himself   
to test this out later. But now he had his own matters to attend to. He just looked up at   
the main figure on the desk, and waited for Them to notice him.  
  
"Ah, here is our main man Claimer now, so everyone listen up!", Zuranpic's grinning   
face caught the attention of everyone in the room. Now it was silent, and not even the   
crickets chirping outside were heard as the leader of Them made a sneering proclamation. "I   
think Lover-Boy has a confession to make." He mock-pretended friendliness, then laughed out  
loud, a shrilling sound that grated on everyone's nerves but no one dared to oppose until   
now. Nagi crossed his arms in an act of defiance, and looked straight up into Zuranpic's   
pudgy eyes with something akin to hatred nestled there. There was neither a look of   
surprise nor of intimidation on his face, and as his Claimed looked up at the face, he   
decided that Nagi was more than met the eye as a girlish-looking boy with a small stature   
and a silent attitude, but was the faint flickerings of fear that he saw beneath the   
calmness?  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Zuranpic smiled again, a simmering smile that made everyone in the room narrow eyes   
and ball fists. At that precise moment, everyone hated him, but as usual, they were too   
cowardly to strike, even when their own rebel leader was there. "Well, then", Zuranpic   
stood up, his form intimidating against the light above. "Let's refresh your memory, won't   
we?" He clicked his fingers, and the same shuffling boy that Nagi had seen came up, bearing  
a black, leather-bound book. Frantically his eyes widened, but somehow he wasn't surprised  
at this news. He had had a hunch that it was Them that had stolen the book, but he wasn't   
concerned about anything other than the contents of the book. But as he watched, the boy   
shied away and made movements to throw the book to him, but he was too slow. A jab to the   
jaw, and the boy was lying unconscious on the floor, the book in Zuranpic's hand. "Stupid,   
slow idiot", was what came from Zuranpic's mouth, and They agreed. He flipped it open, and   
began to read.   
  
""Those eyes could freeze me, and I couldn't help but do what you wanted, no matter   
what the situation. I found myself smiling sometimes when I saw you munch away at your food,  
and always was mesmerized when the sun shooting its rays through your hair, making it seem   
more brilliant than it already was...  
  
Wait. Was I actually romantic there?  
  
That's not the worse, though. The worst is when I change your bandages. I can't   
help my quivering hands or the fact that my blood rises to my (yes, I know) unnaturally pale  
cheeks (not as pale as Aya/Ran's). It's so uncanny, as my hands shake, and I have to hide   
my burning face from you by looking down. No, I can't resist. Last morning, when you   
gently touched my shoulder and asked me what was wrong, I could only look down and mutter,   
"Nothing." Secretly, I hoped that you thought it was just a mannerism for me, and thought   
that I usually didn't bandage up other people. I knew that probably, if this had been the   
past, you would have smiled and chatted as the other people of Wei? changed your bandages,   
but now you just sit on the edge of the bed, solemn and unspeaking and unsmiling, and I   
can't help but worry about this state of emotional health. What is this feeling, this   
feeling that makes me flush and stutter at your single-most touch, and fall hopelessly...  
wait, did I just write "fall"?"", here he smirked, and began to read the last few words.   
""Oh, Omi. You and that angelic self that you are. Have I fallen in love with you?""  
  
Nagi simply didn't do anything. A bit furious at the lack of response, Zuranpic   
made an attempt to look triumphant and glorious, but he failed as Nagi's quiet voice backed   
his. It was not the protest of denial that was expected.  
  
"Yes, in fact, I did write that. The only thing I regret is that Omi found out   
before I could formally tell him instead."  
  
Omi's eyes widened, and slowly he shook his head, and sidled up to Nagi. He padded   
forward, and laid his arms around Nagi, forgetting that Nagi was larger now, and that Nagi   
was feeling abashed and embarrassed, but he just did it so Nagi could feel better. As the   
Japanese turned around, he looked up with shining eyes, full of tears, and gently just laid   
his head on the shoulder. Nagi held him awkwardly, and Zuranpic made a fake act of   
sniffling and crying. "So touching...", he said after a little while, but Nagi just held   
Omi defiantly, and silently prayed to God, if there was one, that he wouldn't have to use   
the gun that he had hidden in his pocket. He knew that Omi knew that it was there, but even  
though Omi might point it at someone, he would never shoot. He had harmed enough people as  
an assassin, and he wouldn't harm anymore. That became them past-assassins' rule: wound,   
not kill. They had had enough of that.  
  
But now, he shifted Omi to his other side, reached in his pocket, and drew out the   
gun, pointing at Zuranpic. He did not flinch when he found the older boy already had a gun   
pointed at him, just resigned himself to his fate, and closed his eyes. Softly Omi let go   
of him, and he didn't see those eyes sigh with softness and caring, and filled with such a   
love that cannot be described, roots that ran so deep that he couldn't believe that it could  
be true, but he saw none of this. Just lifted himself into the air, and mentally pushed   
all the rest of Them off of the desk, until there was only him and Zuranpic facing each   
other, guns pointed at each other. At the same time, they clicked the last safety lock back  
, but did not move a single inch. The tensest of silences follow, broken by nothing, and   
Nagi felt that suffocation that he had felt back in the room gag him again, and he struggled  
to keep himself sane and standing, his eyes focused on the target, hand unwavering as he   
pointed it at his tormentor.  
  
"A draw, aye?", Zuranpic smirked again, confident as usual.  
  
Nagi gave no reply, but in that second, he felt the air loosen as Zuranpic let loose  
a shot. He ducked to the side, his actions perfectly coordinated after lesson after lesson  
with Brad Crawford. The pain came back to him now, and he slowly lifted himself from the   
part of the desk he had fallen. As Zuranpic hastily shot another at his trigger, he held   
out his hand, and it stopped a few millimeters from his hand, and just revolved there. The   
students, obviously, were flabbergasted, but when Nagi made it fly back towards Zuranpic, he  
heard a whimper behind him, and just vaguely noticed it was Omi, still looking up   
anxiously, and he was relieved. At least Omi wasn't hurt. He wouldn't forgive anyone for   
hurting him. But as he spoke, there was the sound of a gunshot, and when he turned to   
intercept it, he knew he wouldn't be fast enough, not fast enough to stop it, and he closed   
his eyes and resigned to his fate to die there, in a dingy school filled with perverted   
freaks, and knew that he probably wouldn't be getting a funeral. But just as he felt it   
halfway, the air currents changed, and he barely had time to register anything when Mikhail   
fell onto him, eyes dilated but struggling to focus, mouth open with a trickle of blood   
running down one corner.  
  
After a few moments he closed his mouth, looked straight at Nagi, and smiled. Then   
he was silent, and did not breathe. Nagi looked on for a few moments before he put down the  
body and calmly lifted himself proudly up to face his enemy, just as silver wire   
interrupted his vision, over the heads of the spectators, and wrapped itself around the gun   
in Zuranpic's hand. Nagi's eyes were blank as he looked towards the door, and he woke up   
suddenly, as if he were in a dream behind a glass, at Omi's shriek.  
  
"Youji!"  
  
The private investigator reeled back the wire and put the gun into his pocket before  
he tended to the crying boy in with hands wrapped around his waist. He looked for a moment  
at Nagi, making note of his appearance, and then placed one hand on the sunny mop of hair   
that burrowed itself deeper and deeper into his chest. Nagi saw the man smile, and gently   
he walked to the side of the table that Zuranpic was standing on, still dazed, and punched   
him. The older boy staggered back, blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth, and   
looked from Nagi to Omi to Youji, who was standing there now, Omi on his arm, holding onto a  
mini clipboard. After a few moments of just calmly smiling at the leader of Them, his   
voice rang clear with convict etched in his voice.  
  
"Let's see here, then, Mr. Zuranpic Redding. Charges against convict."  
  
There was dead silence in the room, but Nagi swear he could hear the song of triumph  
that so many wanted to sing for so long finally sung.  
  
"Sir, you have the right to be silent", Youji said quickly when Zuranpic opened his   
mouth to speak, as finally had regained his composture. The long-haired assassin eyed him   
with one green eye and told the audience, "My name is Kudou Youji. I'm a private   
investigator. Nice to meet y'all."  
  
The audience could only grin as he held up his badge of certification.   
  
"Sir, your charges are for murder, for theft, for..."  
  
As Youji rattled off charges, Nagi jumped off the table as the audience parted like   
Moses to the Red Sea, and he went up to Youji and just stood by him, looking up at Zuranpic.  
The private investigator had finally finished, and now all 3 looked up as Nagi snapped his  
fingers. The black leather-bound book sailed into his hand, as well as Mikhail's body,   
which was set down on the shelf. Youji's face darkened, and Nagi could feel his resentment,  
hidden behind the easygoing smile that mocked the older boy up on the table. For once, he   
was glad he had a friend/trusty in the police business.  
  
But Youji just wrapped the wire around the leader of Them, rounded up the rest of   
Them, and quickly escorted them out into 2 waiting police cars. Vaguely, Nagi could see   
that Omi ran up to the other driver of the other car, and embraced him. Brown hair, brown   
eyes...it was Ken. Youji looked at Nagi's puzzlement in how he got in touch with the J-  
Leaguer, but Youji just winked and asked him, "Well, what do you want to do now?"  
  
"There's not much I can do, Youji."  
  
The former WeiB member spread out his hands as if to hug him, and Nagi backed away   
slowly just in case. The blonde grinned at him, and just said, "The school's in my grasp   
now, and nothing will happen now that it's under police control. You could almost say that   
this school is under YOUR control now, because you know more about it than we do, and I'm   
willing to take any suggestions from you. YOU are in charge of the school, but the police   
think it's me."  
  
Nagi raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You're in charge of a school? Headmaster Kudou   
Youji?"  
  
Youji shook his head. "You wish."  
  
The cars drove off as Nagi and Omi and the students watched. Then the blonde softly  
put his arms around him, and just leaned against him. Slowly, as if the feeling was   
foreign to him, the brunette raised his arms and put them around him, and they just stood   
there, looking out at the breaking dawn that reddened the sky, filled them with a hope,   
filled them with a will to survive. And suddenly Nagi knew that all he wanted was here, and  
he could live, and he could do what he wanted, no one was in charge of him. There were no   
strings to hold him down, except for one. He looked down at Omi and gently ruffled the   
sunny hair, glinting a halo in the rising star, and he felt the peace come into him. The   
moment lasted, until he led Omi inside, finally content.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Finally done, still one more chapter to go. Wait, I have it, just wait. This   
timeline will be completed in another 2 series, and I'm sorry for all those who like Mikhail  
as a character...hey, he's actually a guy I know. I'd better not let him see this or else   
he's going to say, "Do you want me to die?" Well, frankly, I wish he would leave me alone,   
but I guess that's beside the point.  
  
The next one will be a story about Ken/Youji, but I won't say anymore than I have   
to. I don't know what to call it yet, sorry.  
  
Andrea Weiling  
  



	7. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
Nagi,  
After reading all your diaries, I've decided to start keeping one as well. Not to   
copy you or anything, but I don't think you'll mind if I put my thoughts down as well. I   
think you will read this one when I'm done. Of course, you will be laughing your head off   
at me when you do because my writing is very bad. VERY bad. But I hope you will be   
considerate enough to register a few words of English here and there. I'm used to it,   
especially because Youji spoke so much of it sometimes, and we just had to go along with it   
after a little while. He practically taught us all English.  
  
Yesterday you asked me something that I will answer now, and you'll know when I   
finish this diary entry. We were sitting out in the back of the school, in that little   
grove of trees that we, the couple use to hide ourselves in. You sat by me, and gently took  
me in your arms. This feeling, this unexplainable feeling burst through me, and I felt   
myself tremble at your touch. You were convinced it was because I was cold, and pulled me   
in close, where I shivered at the warmth. Oh, Nagi, then you tipped my head up and gently   
kissed me. The moment seemed to last, second after second, and eternity after. I couldn't   
believe it, but then I was left shocked but happy as I snuggled in your arms. Every kiss,   
every touch, every hug, all of this has contributed to this answer that I give you now: Yes,  
Nagi, I do love you. With every inch of me, yes, I love you in more than words can say.  
  
I'm starting to sound like some mushy girl, so I'll just say this: Goodnight.   
Tomorrow we will be boarding the train, since we've graduated. We'll be picked up by   
Shuldich at the train station, and we'll live at his house for a little bit. We'll be able   
to see most of our old comrades, and I hope that we'll be able to get some decent rest   
before we actually start with our life together. Oh, I love you so much, words cannot even   
begin to explain, and I just want to lay here in your arms forever and ever...  
  
"What are you writing?", you ask me now.  
  
"My diary", I answer. I am rewarded by your smile. Then I write a few last words   
before I'll hop into bed and snuggle in your arms, and then I'll have sweet dreams, because   
when you're here, there's nothing I fear.  
  
Oyasumi, Nagi. I love you.  
  
Omi  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Done. Finally. There, hope I can write a little more later, but for now, I need to  
sleep.   
  
Andrea Weiling  
  



End file.
